


Filial Devotion

by PrettyArbitrary



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 13:30:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1349116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyArbitrary/pseuds/PrettyArbitrary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In hindsight, John thought he must’ve been picking up signals all along, because when he caught the shared glance and flicks of elegant fingers between the Holmes brothers, he just knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Filial Devotion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [missilemuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missilemuse/gifts).



> Prompt from missilemuse:  
>  _Background- Mycroft/Sherlock in a serious 'Holmesian' relationship since their teens. S-J epic friendship. I want John's reaction to the revelation/accidental discovery. Exact reaction up to you (but not too accepting or too offhand.) I mean John may be awesome but he's human. I'm sure this has been done before (though I haven't seen). Sorry for the boring prompt, but I read 'PHYSICS OF PRESENT TENSE' coupla days back, and the fact that John was oblivious to the end has left an itch under my skin._
> 
> Okay, so I don’t do Holmescest, so I didn’t approach this from the shipping direction, but the idea of an ill-considered relationship and John finding out and reacting to it was interesting.

In hindsight, John thought he must’ve been picking up signals all along, because when he caught the shared glance and flicks of elegant fingers between the Holmes brothers, he just _knew._

He didn’t bring it up then; frankly, he wouldn’t have known where to start. In fact, he never brought it up at all. Sherlock did, two weeks later, over breakfast.

“You disapprove,” he said around his toast.

John lifted his head. “Of?” But no, he knew what Sherlock was talking about as soon as their eyes connected. He set his spoon back in the bowl, appetite gone. “Oh. That. Yes.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, which was rich. As if he weren’t the one picking this fight. “We’re adults. We have the right to do as we like.”

John dropped his eyes down to his mug to keep Sherlock from seeing what was in them. What he wanted to say was, _Yes, and how old were you when it started?_ but that wasn’t any of his business, was it? Sherlock’s cold stare was making that point for him. That glance he’d caught between the brothers had been an agreement; whatever it had started as, it was a consenting relationship now, and John wouldn’t bet that even Mycroft could make Sherlock do anything he didn’t want to. So all he said was, “You brought it up. I haven’t said anything about it.”

“No.” Sherlock stretched the word out pointedly. “But you’ve made your opinion abundantly clear in any case.” He met John’s confusion with a sarcastically cocked eyebrow. “Since last Tuesday, you’ve been standing further from me, with a more formal posture. You’ve only met my eyes when speaking directly to me, and then only long enough to meet the demands of courtesy. Your topics of conversation have dropped off. You’ve avoided anything that could be construed as personal, and you’ve blatantly restrained yourself from asking certain specific questions that seem to be constantly on the tip of your tongue.” He flicked his hand in a gesture that took in the room. “And the flat is in a state of unnatural cleanliness, which is always a sign of something bothering you.”

John shoved his bowl away. “Just let it lie, will you, Sherlock? You don’t want to have this conversation. Just let it go and let me come to terms with it by myself.” 

“You won’t!” John jerked at Sherlock’s near-shout. “I know you, John! Your tiresome _morals_ won’t allow you to let it go. It’ll fester, and the next thing you know, you’ll be weaving histrionic theories about us based on pedantic social views.”

“Are they?” The pointed quiet of John’s voice cut Sherlock off just as he was hitting his stride. “Are they really histrionic?” He was a doctor. Sherlock could say what he liked, but John had _seen_ the things humans did to each other behind closed doors. It didn’t look histrionic or pedantic when you were setting someone’s broken arm and trying to gently talk to them about pressing charges.

Sherlock’s full lips pressed flat and white. “You think Mycroft assaulted me,” he said just as flatly. “He didn’t. I was the one who initiated the relationship.”

“Oh.” It was a puff of air. John drew in a breath. And then said, “Oh,” again, as his head reshuffled the picture to one that made more sense. Mycroft, who had always looked after Sherlock from whatever distance Sherlock forced him to, whose overprotective big-brother antics had always betrayed an almost blind devotion under that frigid shell, who went to absurd lengths and put up with absurd behaviour from his younger brother. “And how much say did he have in it?” John kept his voice soft, because otherwise he thought he might lose control altogether. He _knew_ Sherlock, knew how he got when he wanted something, the human steamroller.

Sherlock flashed his teeth, looking outright offended. “I hardly forced him, John. I asked, he said yes. Simple enough even under the most basic model of consent.”

The dishes bounced and rattled as John’s fist hit the table. He threw himself back in his chair and counted in his head till he could go on without screaming. “And did he agree because he wanted it?” he asked in a deadly level voice. “Or because he’ll never deny you anything you have your heart set on?”

He knew as the words came out that he didn’t want to know the answer. He threw his napkin on the table and shoved to his feet. “I’m done. I’ll see you after my shift. Have a good day.”

It was cold—the kind of thing he’d say to a stranger—but just now it was the best he could manage. Sherlock was right; they were grown men. It wasn’t any of John’s business how they chose to carry on, and Mycroft wouldn’t thank him for interfering, whatever his reasons.

He put on his shoes and coat and headed out without another word. Sherlock watched him go in silence.


End file.
